


tell me that I'm all you want

by k0skareeves



Series: use my head alongside my heart [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Hurt, Marriage Proposal, Post Season 8, Post-Canon, Sansa-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: “They fear he might want a claim to the throne, since he chose to stay here instead of going South. Being male and half Stark apparently is a threat to my claim. He was the King they chose. I’m the Queen they got stuck with.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: use my head alongside my heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536721
Comments: 15
Kudos: 219





	tell me that I'm all you want

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I'm trying to write for show!canon, although I think I threw some elements of book canon in here as well. 
> 
> It's best to read the first part of this work if you haven't already, but if you don't want to here's a quick SPOILER of part one:  
Jon comes back to Winterfell and apologizes.
> 
> I hope this does them justice.

Queen Sansa is no stranger to marriage proposals.

* * *

The first one comes less than a year after her coronation. It’s from the dornish prince, the one she’d only met once, during the last day she’d ever set foot down south. She barely remembers him, her mind being much preoccupied that day, but there's talk of his beauty and wits, even so far as in Winterfell. She’s still too scared to be flattered by his boldness, still too broken to allow herself the thought of being touched, and the letter remains unanswered.

He sends another, a while after, and this one she does responds, without consulting any of the northern lords first. Her answer is a simple _ no _and she’s absolutely sure of it. She won't have anyone by her side, not when the one she wished was there with her cannot be.

He sends three more letters over the years. They all sit in a drawer, collecting dust.

* * *

Lord Royce writes her too, with some frequence, although not about marriage, and she finds that his kindness indeed has no limits. She’s comforted by their friendship and their alliance, and he’s proven to be a trustworthy man during their time together. Still, she’s surprised when she finally receives his proposal, but only for a moment. It’s not himself that he advocates for, but her cousin Robin, and Sansa actually laughs at the thought of such match. She likes her cousin and she’s grateful that he has grown into a fine leader, but she endured two unwanted unions, one that almost destroyed her spirit entirely. She won’t go through a third.

She kindly declines, and hopes Lord Royce won't take offence, hopes her cousin won’t be insulted, but she’s not all that concerned. She’s Queen. _ The _Queen, ruler of her own country, sovereign to her own people. For once she has enough power to say no without being too afraid of what that might cause.

* * *

Alys Karstark comes to her in person. They haven't seen each other in a while, not since after the fight against the dead, and she's barely exchanged two words with her since, but Sansa finds that the girl with hair as red as hers is actually a fine company to have close. That is, until Alys starts talking about the reason for her visit. They're eating super at the Queen's solar for some privacy and intimacy, two things Sansa has come to appreciate dearly in her time as ruler. The two of them have not much in common but it's still nice to sit with someone true in heart like Alys, and Sansa is grateful. In another life, they could've been friends, true friends, and the thought warms her heart. With that in mind, she manages to remain grateful, even if she's annoyed with the present subject of discussion.

"The North needs heirs, Your Grace."

She's well aware of what the North needs, she spends every waking moment of her days seeing that her people are well taken care of and yet, it seems that's not enough to keep the lords pleased. She sighs, taking a huge gulp of ale before even looking back at Alys, who seems to be embarrassed by her forwardness on the matter.

"I am aware of the northern needs, Lady Karstark. You can assure the rest of the lords that this is a matter close to my heart, but it will not be dealt with until it needs to be."

"But Your Grace-"

"This is my word, and my word is final."

She knows she should be considering possible suitors. It's the only way to ensure the Stark name will carry on, the only way her family's claim to the North will remain safe. Bran can't produce any heirs and only the gods could tell what was going through her sister's mind when the subject was marriage, so Sansa knows she's yet again carrying a weight on her shoulders. She had once wanted a life just like this, had she not? A crown, a husband, a child in her arms and another in her belly? Those were all things she'd spent years dreaming of, but that was another life, another Sansa. This one had been hurt and broken and once removed of all her dreams. She couldn't imagine herself having to touch another man she did not love, and she couldn't possibly begin to wonder how would she ever love someone new when there was already a man out there to which her heart belonged to.

She goes to bed that night feeling lonelier than ever.

Bran's raven comes the next morning.

* * *

It takes her some time to warm up to him, even after his speech to her that night in her solar. Jon is a kind man, yes, and she does love him dearly - more than dearly, more than a sister should love a brother -, but he’s still a man, and she had learned to be forever wary of all men and what they might want from her. It is true that she’s Queen, and that gives her a protection she much appreciates, but it’s not only of his intentions she’s wary of. Not that he has shown any, in the time they’ve spent together. Jon is as proper as any of her subjects, and he is brave, gentle and strong, never having addressed her in any way other than _ Your Grace _ or _ My Queen _ . In private he simply calls her Sansa, and sometimes _ cousin _ , which brings a funny feeling to her chest. _ Yes, cousin, I am his cousin, we’re not brother and sister anymore, we’ve never been. _She likes that he understands that, or at least tries to. It makes her feel better about herself, too, to finally come to terms with all the love she has for him. And yet she’s wary of that love, wary of what it means. It’s the first time she’s felt such thing, truly, even if she thought she had before. Joffrey, Loras, whatever it was she’d felt for them won’t even compare to the way this love makes Jon has her.

Because he does have her, he could have all of her if he simply asked, and she's aware that a Queen should not belong to someone so completely. Being his, even if secretly, is a dangerous thing. She’d learned to separate herself from him with all that happened since they first taken back Winterfell, and she got good at it, at pretending at least. But now that he’s there with her, now that she sees him everyday, that she eats with him, talks to him, looks at him and his eyes and his face and his mouth, it’s harder. It's so much harder, now that the truth about who his father was is out, now that she knows she's allowed to feel the way she feels, to want him the way she does. She knows she should keep some distance but her heart urges her forward.

* * *

The Queen prays a lot.

She didn’t use to, she had once thought praying to be useless, futile, a feeble attempt into changing one’s fate. Now, it is something that gives her much needed comfort and strength. She visits her lady mother’s sept at times, she had it rebuilt even if some advised her it wouldn't be worth it, not to pray to the seven, but to simply remember, to ask for some guidance. Her lady mother was a distant memory for a long time, but in the sept, deep in thought, she can almost remember the sound of Lady Catelyn's voice. It gives her peace. 

In the godswood she prays, yes, and she listens to the old gods, and she asks for a bravery that she still feels she doesn’t possess. She also thinks of father, wishes he could be there with her to assure her she's everything he's ever hoped her be.

Jon kneels beside her at times. She doesn’t know if he prays, she’s not sure if he has anything he wants anymore, now that he has her forgiveness, now that he is back home, but she enjoys his warmth. They stay quiet for as long as she has her eyes closed, she’s never sure what to say and he was never one to talk much, even before all the fighting and death. Now, his silences are longer, and Sansa wonders if he used to talk to someone else before everything happened. She tries not to, but her mind always wonders. She's glad for his company, tough, and sometimes they walk together, still in silence, arms linked as Sansa inner monologue tells her to simply talk to him. _ As if it is that easy. _

It’s not.

* * *

He’s been home a month now when Alys sends a letter. 

It’s short, direct, straight to the point and very northern. Sansa hates it, and yet she understands why Lady Karstark has written her with such urgency. Jon being pardoned somehow represents a threat to her claim. Even if he didn’t want the crown. Even if he was Rhaegar’s son. Even if he would never do anything to harm her or her people. _ Our people. _

Still, she understands politics better than most lords out there, and she sees their fears through Alys’s words. She'd be fearful too, she supposes, if she did not know this man that sits at her table everyday. _ He is a Stark, like me. _She wishes she could explain to them that, but she cannot, she fears she'll reveal too much and then they'll all know of the truth in her heart. She's not ready for that yet, maybe she'll never be. But she's sure made her decision.

The North needs an heir, yes, and Sansa would need a husband. _When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. _Would her father approve of her choice? Would that have been his choice as well, if things were different, if her aunt Lyanna had never died and Robert Baratheon was never King? She thinks she knows the answer but she’s still cautious with her feelings. She can’t risk exposing her heart like that, not to Jon, not to lose him once he understands what she’s asking, _why _she's asking. Because he will deny her, she’s sure. He might have come to his senses about everything that happened, he might have asked for forgiveness, taken his share of guilt, but that doesn’t mean he sees her the way she sees him, doesn’t mean their love is the same. Sadly, the idea is already formed in her head and there isn’t much that she can do to take it back.

She tries to come to terms with the fact that she wants him. Desperately.

It's easier than she thought it would be.

* * *

Arya comes home as well, and that demands a feast.

The people are happy, there's music and food and dancing and so much more laughing than she's used to. In the meantime, Sansa tries to make peace with the fact that her sister hadn’t come before, not even once, when it was only her, alone in the cold. She mostly manages, with the help of some ale, even if a darker side of her feels resentment towards the young explorer.

Arya and Jon talk through the entire feast, laughing and drinking and her heart warms because she had missed his laugh. She hasn't been able to make him laugh like this, not in a very long time, but it's not like she had been brave enough to try again after his arrival. On their last feast together he was laughing too, and drinking and enjoying himself, but his attentions were not on her, like they aren't now. It’s hard not to resent him for it, but she tries very hard. The ale helps. She contents herself with the fact that he’s in Winterfell now, with her, with Arya, and that the three of them are safe and happy and at home. She thinks of Bran, even if he isn't really just Bran anymore, and she hopes he finds joy in King's Landing, at least some type of joy. They deserve it, the last Stark kids, who haven't really been kids in so long. They've been through enough, endured enough, survived enough. So she's happy that her family is safe, and she holds onto this feeling even when she listens to Arya’s plea.

“You must come with me, you must.”

Sansa knows it’s not polite to eavesdrop but they’re being so very loud and they’re right next to her and she just can’t help herself, can she? She takes another sip of her ale and listens.

“Go where?”

“Anywhere! Oh Jon, you have no idea, the things I’ve seen, why do you think I’ve been telling you all about that tonight? Come with me, Jon! Come and see with me, I'm sure you'll love it, just as much as you love North of the Wall."

She wants to stop herself from looking but she can't, her eyes are already on him, studying him, trying to understand what he thinks of this request. He catches her by surprise, looking straight at her and their eyes meet for one, two, three seconds until she quickly turns away, heart racing, her chest heavy. _ Oh. _

They'll leave her. _ He _will leave her.

"You just got here. Surely you're not that eager to travel again."

"Oh, we wouldn't be going now. The crew needs to rest and we need to gather provisions and I've missed the land, sure. Two moons from now, that would be the ideal time to leave."

Sansa finishes her drink in one gulp. _ Two moons. _Then she'd be alone again.

She rises, and everyone in the hall that is not too deep in their cups rises as well. She simply smiles and nods at them, excusing herself without looking back.

She's too distraught to feel the gaze that follows her.

* * *

_ Two moons, two moons, two moons. _

The three of them are sitting together at her solar in the morning, not really chatting as Arya appears to have gone over the top with the ale during the night. Sansa thinks of her sister's words as a death sentence, to be left alone once more so soon, she wishes she could scream at them for wanting to leave her, wishes she could ask for them to take her with them, wishes she could beg for him to _ stay _. She has barely had any sleep and she's moody and her mouth opens before she can be sure of her next moves.

"The lords are asking for heirs."

She's looking at her plate but she clearly hears the sound - or better, lack of sound - that her family makes while absorbing her words.

"Why?" Arya asks, and Sansa is touched by the protectiveness in her sister's voice. Jon still hasn't said a thing, and she dares to lift her gaze from her plate. Arya is staring at her intently, and Jon's head is turned to the window. It's snowing today. The room feels very cold.

"They've been asking for quite some time now. And before that, I had already received a few requests for my hand."

That seems to spark his interest, his head slowly turning back to her. She catches his eye, notices how he slowly swallows, licks his lips before speaking.

"From who?"

"Anyone. The dornish prince, Lord Royce advocating for Robin, any high lord in all Westeros with a son, really. It seems being a young unmarried Queen makes you more prominent to receiving such proposals."

Arya resumes her eating, her mouth full while she speaks. "And why does it make a difference if they're asking now?"

"Because Jon is here."

She can feel his eyes burn through her but she remains focused on Arya. “Jon? What about Jon?”

“They fear he might want a claim to the throne, since he chose to stay here instead of going South. Being male and half Stark apparently is a threat to my claim. He was the King they chose. I’m the Queen they got stuck with.”

“That’s not true.”

His voice is so harsh, she never heard him like this before, not even when they used to argue. She can’t simply ignore him, so she turns, her eyes meet his, there’s fury there, and pain and also something else she can’t quite understand.

“They named you their Queen-”

“I was the only one left.”

“You’re good at this, Sansa.” Her sister says, placing one hand on top of hers. Sansa realizes how strongly she’s holding her spoon, clutching it with all her force. “At ruling. They’ve wrote songs about the _ Good Queen Sansa _ and how loved she is by her people.”

“I know that.” Her tone is harsh. She drops her spoon, counts one, two, three seconds in her mind. Her voice is kinder now. “Still, they would've preferred a male, a King. That’s just how the world is. And until I don’t have heirs of myself, my claim is weakened. Our claim, as a family, is weakened.”

She says all that while looking at Arya but she’s sure he knows her words are directed to him. He must know. She hopes he does.

Her sister is quick to present a solution. “Well, then, just one more reason for you to come with me.”

She knows Arya means well, she knows, but she wants to scream at her. She feels like she’s three and ten again, when screaming at Arya was somewhat part of their routine. She wouldn‘t do that, not anymore, she loves her sister dearly and she’s happy Arya’s home. Still, and it saddens her to think this, but the thought is there because it’s true, she grew accustomed to Arya’s absence. They had never been that close, and she thought her dead for so long. She thought them all dead at some point, all of them but Jon. He was once the only brother she had left, her half brother, her Lord Commander, her King. He is now the only man she could see herself agreeing to marry. _ Wanting _to marry.

She would try to explain it all to Arya if the two of them were alone, but she can’t form the right words, not now, not when he's right there, sitting so close, watching her with his dark eyes. Instead, she looks at him, and simply says. “You could stay.” He could stay, he really could stay and she desperately wants him to. She holds his gaze for one, two, three seconds and she turns to Arya, squeezing her hand. “You could both stay.”

Arya seems confused. “But then you’d have to marry some strange lord, Sansa.”

“She wouldn't.”

Both women turn to Jon, but his eyes are locked on Sansa. She unintentionally holds her breath, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, barely aware of how hard she’s squeezing Arya’s hand. If her sister’s in pain she does not say. They both stay there, silent, looking at Jon, waiting for him to continue, and Sansa sees in his eyes what he means to say, and even if it gives her great joy she is still not sure if he says it the way she wants him too. She thinks it’s probably something done out of honor, out of duty, out of promises to keep her safe, promises he’s made to a dead man that’s not even his father anymore. She knows she shouldn’t be glad, knows it would be far from fair, to trap him like this, to lure him when she’s sure his desire will never match hers. She'd be keeping him from a chance at love again, she thinks, a chance at happiness with someone he truly wanted. And yet she lets herself be joyful for a moment when she hears his voice, loud and clear.

“She could marry me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbetaed and English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes made. I'll try to correct everything as soon as I can.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for your support. This is my second work for jonsa in canon verse and I hope I did then justice. Being able to write for them in canon has given me a much needed closure after the finale, and I hope I could provided some comfort for you as well.
> 
> Your constant support is what keeps me going and I'm really grateful for that. I'm @sansaravenclaw on tumblr if you ever wanna chat, and I'm also on twittter at @ninacrows.
> 
> Xxxxxxx


End file.
